As I reached for a stray sheet near the desk leg, the phone buzzed again. I glanced at his phone just long enough to see a message pop up on the screen.
James Westbrook
She's here now. Still think surveilling her is healthy?
The words didn't make sense at first. They were just shapes, pixels, letters arranged in an order my brain refused to process.
But it was... My name?
I looked again, my heart starting to hammer. Not my full name in that message, but the pronoun“her”and something about the context made my skin prickle with unease.
For a second, I thought it was a mistake. A coincidence. A reference to someone else entirely. Maybe a client, an employee, anyone but me.
But curiosity won, and before I could stop myself, I picked up his phone and searched my name in his messages.
It was everywhere.
Threads with his driver, his lawyer, even his security team, every single one mentioning me. My name, Anna Stewart, just "Stewart," sometimes just "her".They scattered through months of conversations like breadcrumbs leading to a trap I'd already walked into.
"She's here now."
"Don't tell her anything."
"Make sure she gets home safe."
The messages scrolled endlessly. I couldn't stop reading, couldn't look away, even as my hands started to shake.
Three months ago
Jack
Yes, she’s still working at the penthouse. I’m keeping a close eye on her.
James
This is a mistake.
Jack
It's a necessity.
Two months ago
Jack
She took a different route home tonight. Stopped at the corner store on Fifth instead of the one by her apartment. Bought milk, bread, and a chocolate bar. Why the change in pattern?
James
Maybe she wanted milk from a different store. Jack, this is obsessive.
Jack
I need to understand her patterns. What if she's planning something?
Six weeks ago
Jack
